


Falling with Style

by kamibanani



Series: Good Omens Prompt Drabbles [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, cw: gabriel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-16 01:27:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19307854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kamibanani/pseuds/kamibanani
Summary: From lywinis via tumblr: He indulges in everything, not just food. it's his vice that brings him closer across the gap.





	Falling with Style

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lywinis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lywinis/gifts).



> Originally posted to my [tumblr](https://kamibanani.tumblr.com/post/185602803516/aziraphale-he-indulges-in-everything-not-just).

Even corporeal, angels had no blood. Aziraphale knew that, but he half-imagined a burning sensation creeping up his neck and into his cheeks anyway as he sputtered indignantly at Crowley’s words.

“We – we are  _nothing_  alike, demon.”

Slitted eyes met his, a languid smile stretching across Crowley’s lips. “Oh aye?” He said it casually, with just a hint of a question, but Aziraphale grew more flustered anyway.

“Since we’re nothing alike,” Crowley continued, “I guess you wouldn’t want this.”

He pulled out a tattered, water-stained book from his coat. It had seen better days, but Aziraphale gasped. “Is that… is that a first-edition  _On the Revolution of the Heavenly Spheres_? Where did you get that?” Involuntarily, he reached for it. Crowley laughed softly, and handed it over.

* * *

“You really must try this, Gabriel.” Aziraphale offered the archangel his bowl. “The humans call it  _ice cream_.”

Gabriel looked askance at him, recoiling ever so slightly. “Why ever would I do such a thing?” he sniffed. “Anyway, congratulations on thwarting the demon Crowley yet again. You’re doing impressive work here.”

Aziraphale shifted, grinning nervously. “Right. Yes. Well. Th – thank you. Just doing God’s work, of course.” Gabriel nodded, and disappeared.

“His loss.”

He started as Crowley leaned in close (when did he get here?), reaching around him to swipe a bit of ice cream on his finger. Aziraphale cleared his throat, trying not to watch Crowley lick the ice cream off and failing.

* * *

“What the bloody heaven have you been doing, I’ve been calling you for an hour!” Crowley stormed into the bookshop, loose papers fluttering to the ground in his wake. Aziraphale scratched the back of his head sheepishly as he watched Crowley’s eyes fall on his stack of records, a strange twang of guilt in his stomach.

“Er, yes, well, I had the record player on, you see, and –”

“You and this bloody record player.” Crowley said it with what could have been mistaken for venom, but he was smiling. The demon crossed the space between them, tapping Aziraphale’s chest gently with the sleeve for Chopin’s  _Nocturne in C# Minor_. If the angel had a heart, it might have hammered against his chest.

“You have terrible taste in music.”

* * *

Crowley was a whirlwind, his words coming in at a clip. His usual composure had given way to a frenzied anxiety, and Aziraphale took a small step back.

The demon rounded on him, his yellow eyes wide and boring into his – well, angels didn’t really have souls, per se, but Aziraphale imagined that if he had one, that’s how deeply Crowley would be looking at him.

“Come with me.” The words were soft, almost breathless. Aziraphale blinked, tilting his head to one side, uncomprehending.

“What?”

“Come with me.” He said it again, more forceful this time, more urgent. Aziraphale blinked again, and suddenly Crowley was a hair’s breadth apart, his hands twitching as if he had meant to grab Aziraphale but thought better of it. Instead, Crowley reached out his hand.

“I –”

Aziraphale hesitated. Time was meaningless to an immortal being to whom real danger consisted only of literal hellfire, and yet that moment seemed to stretch into an eternity. Just him and Crowley? Doing whatever they pleased, enjoying each other’s company without considering their orders? Just the two of them, forever. 

Without meaning to, he started to lift his arm. Crowley’s eyes lit up, the corners of his lips twitching into the beginning of a grin.

Then a gust of wind blew, snapping him out of his trance.  _Impossible_. There was nowhere in the universe to run, not from God. His arm swung back down, hanging limply at his side as he tried ever so hard to look anywhere except at Crowley. Still, he didn’t miss how the light had gone out of the demon’s eyes, how the grin had transformed itself into a scowl.

Even as he opened his mouth, rambling out awful words he barely realised he was forming, he felt an ache in his chest.

Crowley was long gone by the time Aziraphale moved again, grasping uselessly for his proffered hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you like this drabble, please be sure to check out my chaptered works too.


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